


Swan Lake

by rosweldrmr



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, F/M, Mash-up, Whiplash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6008209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosweldrmr/pseuds/rosweldrmr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dutifully, she raises en pointe and spins. She keeps the count in her head, focuses on the control in her arms, the track of her eyes, the turn of her head. She spins and spins and spins. And for a second, she forgets that Kylo Ren is watching her. That she is being assessed. There is just the music she feels in her bones and the careful movements of her body.  | Or the one where Rey is a ballerina and Kylo wants to be her teacher</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swan Lake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tyrantsandcreampuffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrantsandcreampuffs/gifts), [lostinkatland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinkatland/gifts).



> This is a gift for the beautiful Mods at [ReyloExchange](http://reyloexchange.tumblr.com/). It came to my attention through the exchange that they were not participating, and that made me sad. They are both such sweethearts and deserve an enthusiastic 'Thank you' for organizing and hosting this event. So I wrote this for them as a thanks. I hope [Kat](http://bensolosrey.tumblr.com/) and [Kathie](http://kaathiiee.tumblr.com/) enjoy.
> 
> Kat asked for "Reylo dark-ish ballet AU where Rey is a ballet dancer and Kylo/Ben her teacher". She requested a Black Swan-ish type fic, but I haven't actually seen Black Swan. What I have seen is the first ten minutes of Whiplash, so that's what this is loosely based on. (Some of the dialog is adapted directly from there.) 
> 
> A warning before I begin, AUs are really hard, so I'm sorry if this turned into a retelling of TFA within a Ballet College AU. Also, my only experience with dance is some really embarrassing high school musical theater productions and watching Bunheads. So basically this is the definition of ‘fake it till you make it’. All research resources are linked in the footnotes. This is unbeta'ed as of now (because this took me longer than I thought to write and I'm technically late for the deadline) so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

“Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.” — Maya Angelou

\--

Rey yawns and stretches her neck. It’s nearly 2 AM now, and she’s sore all over. But the school is quiet so the only thing distracting her are the city noises. She turns the volume up on her speaker on and resets her position.

Tonight, she’s working on Giselle[1]. There’s no better piece for practicing tempo shifts. She repeats the steps again and again. She can see the blisters and blood already staining her shoes. But when she falters, she picks herself up and starts at the beginning.

Over and over. From allegro to adagio and back again. She drills herself to the point of exhaustion.

A horn blares and she loses her footing.

“Fuck!” she nearly screams, slamming her palm flat on the dance studio floor. She stares daggers at her own reflection. “Again,” she says, out of breath, and stands to reset the music.

She begins again, trying to block out everything but the sound of the orchestra. She wills her legs to work in concert with her feet. She flows from one step into the next, a seamless transition. She raises her arms up, and imagines a perfect arch extended from the tips of her shoes to the points of her fingers.

There is a scuff of shoes in the doorway and she loses her focus. There is a man standing in the shadows, his face half hidden from view. But even without being able to see him, she knows who it is. There is no mistaking his build. He is unusually tall, even for a dancer. And there is something about the way he moves, his walk, which gives him away.

“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching for her bag and speaker.

“No,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Stay.” His voice is nothing like what she imagined. She’s heard him screaming through closed doors all year, but she’s never heard him speak. And there is something strange in his tone, a hesitancy that makes her pause. Or maybe it’s just the shock of him _watching_ her. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Rey,” she says, frozen in place.

“That’s it, just ‘Rey’?” he mocks and his voice turns sour.

“No,” Rey snaps. “Sir,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “Rey Hellin[2],” she answers quickly. She already knows what this is: an audition.

“Hellin,” he repeats, nodding his head. Like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “What year are you, _Rey_?” he asks, stepping into the dim lights of the studio. Her name is a careful thing on his lips, soft and tentative.

“First year,” she says. “Sir,” again, she adds as an afterthought. And she might be imagining it, but she thinks she can see him raise his eyebrows just slightly. In amusement or offense, she’s not sure. He’s hard to read.

“You know who I am?” he asks, and a chill runs up her spine at the way he says it. His voice is almost hypnotizing; his tone and cadence. She wonders why he doesn’t speak more often. All that rich texture is lost when he’s screaming at some poor dancer.

“Yes sir,” she answers immediately. “Everyone knows you,” she says, aware that it’s a backhanded compliment. And she’s not imagining it this time when he lifts his eyebrows. He _is_ amused.

“So, you know I’m looking for dancers?” he asks, beginning to pace the room. His hands clasped behind his back, he takes long, even strides in a semicircle around the single light that illuminates the studio.

“Yes sir,” she nods, letting her bag fall.

“Then why did you stop?” he asks, his reflection just over her shoulder in the mirror.

So she begins to move. She lets the line of her body fall into place. She is aware of the arch of her spine, the curve of her arm, the placement of her fingers, the motion of her legs, the balance of her feet. But it doesn’t feel strange; she’s used to being evaluated.

She makes an eight count in her head and dances to it. One two three. One two three. _Glissade_ , _brise_ , _glissade_ , _brise_ , _glissade_ , _assemble_ , _sissone_. [3] Then comes to a rest in 5th, careful to mind her turnout.

“Did I ask you to dance?” He asks, prowling around to stand between her and the mirror. She can see his face now. The asymmetry of his jaw, the ridge of his brow, his misshapen nose, the slant of his lips, the scar that mars his face. He’s even more intimidating standing in front of her in the light.

“N-no, I--” she stutters.

“I asked why you stopped, and your answer is to turn into a wind-up music box ornament?” There is an edge to his voice, a cruelty she doesn’t know how to guard against.

“Sorry, I thought--”

“Show me your positions,” he instructs as he takes off his coat and tosses it over a warmup rail.

“Yes sir,” Rey responds and immediately falls into 1st. He rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt as she begins to move. The positions are like breathing, at this point. She can do them in a coma. But there is something so unnerving about having him ask her, and the way he watches her. This isn’t like any audition she’s ever had. And maybe it’s the intimacy of it, the way his eyes follow her as she shifts from 3rd to 4th, she feels exposed, naked. But before she can even get her feet into 5th, he holds up a closed fist.

“Stop,” he barks, his eyes raking over her as she struggles to stop mid-movement. “Grand plie,” he demands and Rey all but jumps to get her feet into position. Not even halfway through, he claps and yells, “Grand! Grand! I said grand!”

Rey struggles to mold her body into the perfect form.

“ _Pas de bouree pointe_ in 2nd,” he instructs and she does as she’s told. “Close 5th and _releve developpe_ into _arabesque_ ,” he continues without any hint that he’s actually watching her. Rey closes her eyes and struggles to hear an eight count, to hold her body in time with the music in her head. “Two sets in opposition, four _releves_ back,” he goes on. “One step forward, one _ronde de jambe_ turn forward.”  [4]

Rey does as instructed. Each direction executed to perfection. She draws her hands around, careful to control her movements.

“Show me your _chaines_ ,” he snaps before she can even pull herself out of the _ronde_.

Dutifully, she raises _en pointe_ and spins. She keeps the count in her head, focuses on the control in her arms, the track of her eyes, the turn of her head. She spins and spins and spins. And for a second, she forgets that Kylo Ren is watching her. That she is being assessed. There is just the music she feels in her bones and the careful movements of her body. She spins _en pointe_ from one end of the studio to the other, diagonally across the floor.

It isn’t until she hears the door shut that she realizes she’s alone. Unsure what to do with herself, or what she's done wrong, she drops from _pointe_ and grimaces at her own performance.

She should be angry. Insulted, even, that he just left without a word. But she isn't. Not exactly. Instead, she is tired; exhausted. There is nothing she wants to do more than to get out of her clothes and crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Just as she’s turning to get her bag, the door swings open again.

“Oops,” he says in faux apology. “Forgot my coat.”

Then he’s gone again, the door of the studio clicking shut behind him.

\--

“I’m telling you, it was him,” Rey insists the next morning with Finn over coffee.

“No way,” he shakes his head. “Kylo Ren,” he says in the hushed voice of someone who knows the rumors. “You’re telling me Kylo Ren just showed up in the middle of the night, and had you dance for him?”

“Yes,” Rey whispers conspiratorially. Even though they are both freshmen, they know what something like this could mean. Kylo Ren is _the_ instructor at the conservatory. The one only spoken about in whispers, a legend in his own right. But more than that, he has an eye for stars, they say. You don't sign up for his classes, you have to be _invited_. So, of course Rey knows what a big deal it was that he wanted to see her dance.

“What’d he say?” Finn asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Nothing,” she says unsurely. “He just kind of showed up and started telling me what to do. Then, he just left,” she shrugs.

“That’s it?” Finn shakes his head. “He just left?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “It was so weird, you know? Not like a normal audition. He had me doing plies and the positions,” she shrugs again and sips her coffee. “I don’t know, it was…”

“Weird,” Finn sighs and nods in agreement.

“Do you think…” Rey trails off, not even really sure what she’s asking. “Have you ever heard of him doing that with anyone else?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean much,” Finn admits. “I don’t know anyone in his class. Being invited is like being tapped by Skull and Bones or something. It’s big.”

“But he didn’t invite me,” she reminds him and feels her heart sink. “Maybe he didn’t like me.”

“You’re amazing!” Finn immediately defends her and Rey smiles. They’ve only known each other for a few months, but already she can’t imagine her life without him. “Just, give it some time.”

Rey nods, but already her thoughts have drifted back to that dark studio last night. There was something so strange about the way he’d moved. Even as she struggled to shut him out, to focus on the music and motion of her body, she found that her eyes were drawn to him. The way he prowled around her in a semicircle, just on the edge of the light; it was unnerving. His hands clasped behind his back, he look long, even strides that felt too measured to be natural. He had such an imposing presence, as if he forced the air out of his way rather than let it parting around him[5]. It must be exhausting, she thinks, to expend that much energy just walking.

She’s not sure what to make of it. To make of him. But she doesn’t have a lot of time to spare, thinking about things that might never impact her life. So she does her best to drop it, forget about that strange night and the way he’d sounded when he’d said her name.

And eventually, things get back to normal. She goes to class, works on her form, and practices late into the night. He doesn’t show up again, but sometimes, when she thinks she hears something, her eyes will catch on the doorway. And when she finds herself still alone, she does her best not to feel disappointed.

\--

A month goes by before he shows up at her 9:30 AM class, unannounced. And immediately, her eyes are drawn to him, just as they had been that night. But there is something different about him in the daylight that strikes her as odd. His expression is more restrained than it had been that night. There is no hint of that amusement she’d seen in him when they were alone. Even the way he walks seems different, like he’s trying _not_ to draw attention to himself. Or maybe it’s just over the last month, she’s turned the memory of him into something else. Something _otherworldly_.

Her instructor, Maz, is a tiny woman more prone to outbursts of cursing than most. Rey has seen her be interrupted before, which usually results in a fit of yelling and the offending party retreating hastily. But not this time. This time, she takes one look at Kylo Ren before she nods and takes a silent step back, giving him the floor. And there is something so chilling about the surrender that Rey has to look away.

“You,” he says, pointing to a girl next to Rey. “ _Releve_ ,” he instructs with that same authority he had that night. The girl next to her gasps and immediately jumps to get _en pointe_. “You,” he says, pointing to the girl on the other side of Rey. “ _Releve_ ,” he says. And before he can even get the word out, she’s already raising up on her toes. But his eyes slide away before she’s even finished. “You,” he points to someone else.

He points to almost everyone in the room, each with the instruction to show him their _releve_. But Rey is not convinced. She watches him closely, the way he is careful not to look at her. The way his eyes seem to jump from one face to the next, like he’s looking for something. Or someone. But she knows better. She knows what his eyes look like when he’s interested. No, he’s playing with her. She’s sure of it.

Until finally he turns. His hands are carefully held behind his back, but Rey refuses to let her eyes track him across the room. He’s pacing, thinking. From the corner of her eye, Rey can see the way his feet move. There is such fluidity in his actions, it almost looks unreal. How can anyone _move_ like that? The way his every action seems timed and purposeful.

Rey thinks she’s beginning to understand him better. Kylo Ren doesn’t do anything without intention. Even now, the way he walks around her in the studio is a careful choice. Without being obvious about it, Rey can feel that he is aware of her position among the rest of the students. And he pivots his turns around her, like there is an invisible line he draws from her to him. Nothing is an accident with him.

Finally he stops and turns sharply to look directly at her. “Rey,” he snaps her name and she feels something ignite inside of her. A fear or a desire that makes her heart race. And it’s nothing like the way he’d said her name that first time, but there is something so satisfying about hearing the rest of the class collectively inhale and the sound of it that she can barely keep her chest from swelling. “ _Jete_ ,” he says, and his voice is smooth and even, nothing like it’s been for the rest.

She thinks maybe it’s a test. To see if she would _releve_ instead, but she leaps without pause. She is careful to mind her arms.

“Again,” he instructs, and his voice is so hard she forgets to be pleased with herself. She leaps again, in the other direction this time. “ _Saute_ ,” he says and it almost feels as if there is a tether between his mouth and her body. “Again.”

Whatever he asks for, she does. Without pause. She gives him what he wants.

“Again,” he says, and Rey can feel the rest of the classes’ eyes on her. “Again. Again. Again!” His voice rises steadily until he’s yelling. And with each command, Rey can feel her heart beat faster.

“You’re too stiff,” he finally says before sweeping from the room. The entire class is silent for almost 10 seconds before they erupt into hysterics.

It takes Maz the rest of the period just to get everyone to calm down.

\--

“I can’t believe I missed that!” Finn laments that night over dinner.

“Trust me, it wasn’t that great,” Rey shakes her head. But even remembering it makes her blush.

“Not that great,” Finn mocks. “He knew your name!”

“So?” Rey shrugs and tries to hide her face behind an oversized bite of salad.

“So? Ky-lo Ren _knew your name_ ,” Finn emphasizes each syllable of the name, like it were a sacred thing.

“He said I was stiff.”

“That’s more than he said to anyone else,” Finn insists. “Poe said he was watching you like a hawk.”

“An angry, demanding, stuck-up hawk who gets off making students feel bad about themselves,” Rey argues. “Look, let’s just forget about it. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Finn, like a good friend, leaves it at that. But Rey is still stewing when she finally crawls into bed a few hours later. What kind of asshole just barged into a class and started ordering people around, anyway? What made him so great?

\--

She meant to drop it, she did. But Rey has a bad habit of not being able to let things go. And the memory of him humiliating her in front of her class and instructor is not something she can just ignore. Three weeks later, they’re still talking about it. Her classmates look at her with pity when they think she can’t see.

Even Maz, the tiny ball of rage that she is, pulls Rey aside one day after class and tells her to “Put it out of your mind.”

But it had been the _way_ she said it. Her voice was soft, like her hand that rested on Rey’s wrist. The more everyone pitied her, the angrier she got.

Which is how she finds herself at 7:30 on a Wednesday night, wading through the library’s reference log, looking for old performance tapes. The conservatory had been recording performances for very long, and had amassed a huge digital archive of footage. But she can't find any mention of Kylo in any of the files. In fact, she can't find his name anywhere. It's like he doesn't exist. 

It takes a few hours, but she finally stumbles across a microfilm labeled ‘Ren: _Les Sylphides_ ’[6]. Film in hand, she asks the librarian for help setting up the projector. The older woman doesn’t sound very thrilled about it, since the library is closing in a half an hour and she has to lug the thing out of the loft storage area. But as soon as she sees the name of the film, she agrees.

“I saw one of these performances live,” she says. She’s an older woman, in her late fifties. Her hair is grey now, but styled in an ornate braided bun, the kind Rey often wears for performances. And there is something familiar about her, Rey thinks she must have been a dancer, when she was younger.

“How was it?” Rey asks, unable to stop her curiosity.

The other woman gets a faraway look in her eyes, like she’s been transported back through the years and is inhabiting her own memory. “Beautiful,” she whispers and Rey feels her skin prickle with goosebumps.

Once the projector is setup, Rey settles into a nearby chair as she starts the film.

The footage is grainy and the camera is shaky. Clearly this is not an official recording. “Looks like they were filming from their seat,” Rey realizes.

“They probably were. Outside filming wasn’t allowed at the time.”

“The school didn’t record it?”

“Of course,” she scoffs. “They’ve been recording students for fifty years.”

“Then why can’t I find any of it?” Rey asks. “And why is this on microfilm, with no sound. It’s only been ten years.”

“About five years ago, we were running out of storage, and old films were deteriorating, so a benefactor of the conservatory paid to have our video library digitized,” she tells Rey, scooting a little closer to the screen as the performance begins. “When it was done, the old films were sent off to storage. But something happened, some mix-up, or an accident. None of Ren’s performances were in the new digital archive. And when they tried to get the tapes back from storage to digitize them, they were gone. All of them. This is the only recording left.”

Rey crosses her arms. “Sounds like someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure all his performances disappeared.”

“If so, then someone else has tried just as hard to save this one,” she says, barely a whisper.

“This is someone’s personal recording,” Rey says, looking over at the librarian who, by now, is at the edge of her seat. Her eyes are bright and focused solely on the grainy video. “This is yours?” Rey guesses.

“Yes,” she admits, then waves a hand to silences Rey. “Here he comes,” she says and Rey pulls herself away from observing the older woman to watch the screen.

The man is too far away to make out his face, but there is no mistaking his figure as it emerges from the wings. She’s never seen anyone else move the way he does.

“Such gravitas,” the librarian murmurs. “It was better in person.”

“How many times did you see it?” Rey wonders.

“Six,” she answers distractedly. “Look, look,” she says, pointing to the screen and Rey turns back to the film.

She’s never seen _Les Sylphides_ before but she knows some of the music. She tries to listen to it, hear it in her head. She doesn’t remember it perfectly, but she can see the rhythm of it from Ren’s performance.

“Is he _en pointe_?” Rey gasps, sitting up to get a closer look.

“Yes,” she says, conspiratorially.

“ _Les Sylphides_ doesn’t call for _pointe_ , does it?” Rey asks, trying to dredge up old dance history classes in her mind.

“No, it was reworked for him.”

“But…” Rey shakes her head. “Why?”

“Because,” she says, finally looking away from the screen for a second, “Look at him.”

And for the first time, Rey really looks. Not just with the discerning eye of someone looking to _prove_ something, but as a ballerina. She watches it as someone who loves dance. “Oh,” she feels herself saying. Because the librarian is right. That strange, otherworldly way he seemed to carry himself that night is evident in his movements on stage. There is a fluidity, a grace that she’s only ever seen a few times in her life. His form is perfect, his control is absolute, but aside from his technical precision, there is something haunting about watching him.

Eventually the room falls away. The projector’s hum and the librarian sitting next to her all fade into the distance. And Rey is there, sitting in the audience. The orchestra playing, and Ren takes center stage. He is beautiful. The way his body is in perfect time, his every action reflects the tone of the music.

There is no plot to _Les Sylphides_ , no characters even. Just a boy and sylphs who dance to music. Independent of this viewing, Rey knows that _Les Sylphides_ is one of the first ballets that is simply about mood. The dancers’ bodies alone convey all the emotion of the piece. And Rey is surprised to find that even without the music, or her memory’s poor reconstruction of it, she can still _feel_ the emotion of the piece so acutely, she finds herself on the verge of tears.

“It’s so sad,” she whispers, trying to reign in her emotions.

“Every performance of _Les Sylphides_ is different. Every time I saw it, I felt something different.”

“Do you have a version with music?” she asks, unable to pull her eyes away.

“If you leave your personal email on the login sheet, you might find what you’re looking for.” She turns to look at Rey the exact moment the video cuts off.

How many times must she have watched this, to know exactly when to look away, Rey wonders. And why was this the only, secret, analog version of any of his performances? “Isn’t it weird?” she asks they stand. The other woman nods as she starts to pack up the projector. “Why wouldn’t he want anyone to see this?”

“What makes you think he’s the one who wanted the tapes destroyed?”

Rey shrugs, “I don’t know. Who else?”

“I would assume whoever _paid_ to have them destroyed.”

\--

Rey leaves the library with even more questions than she’d started with. But the thing she’d gone there to find out, was he _that good_ , seems to have been resolved.

The answer, unfortunately, is ‘yes’.

\--

She dreams about him. He says her name and holds out his hand to her. But she doesn’t take it.

Even in her dreams, she can’t reconcile the way he dances with how cruel he is.

So he dances around her. Circles her like he’s a hunter. He’s even taller _en pointe_ , and despite herself, she feels herself move in time with him. As he draws closer, she retreats. But she can never get away because they are trapped on a platform on the stage. A small island where he is inescapable.

\--

She finds a video file named ‘Research’ in her inbox the next morning, but she refuses to watch it.

She’s seen enough of Kylo Ren in her dreams last night.

\--

It’s been a week since he showed up in her class to snub her. A week of anger that festered inside her. And now that she’s seen him dance, she finds herself strangely anxious. Maybe he was right, she was too stiff.

So, she does what she’s always done when faced with someone who didn’t believe in her. She believes in herself. She doubles her practices. If he thinks he can deter her, he’s wrong.

He’s only given her the fuel to light the fire that drives her. At this point, she feels like she’s made of 60% spite. And that’s fine. It’s always been a good motivator. Success was the best comeback for those who doubted her.

\--

The next time he shows up, Rey is almost expecting him.

He waits until her back is to the door to slip in, but she’s not surprised. She’d seen his silhouette in the hall before she turned.

She doesn’t acknowledge him, and proudly, she feels like it’s a victory of sorts.

Instead, she dances. She pours her heart into the performance. In fact, it is one of the few rare occasions when she’s not on stage, that she’s able to lose herself entirely to it. She has no formal choreography tonight. Instead, she works on her movements. The flow of her body, the grace of her steps, the feeling of the music.

She closes her eyes and lets the music fill her. She can feel it, like wind, moving around her, through her. The music is inside her. She reaches for it, feels the tremor of notes like a language she was born knowing. And from that place, she allows herself to tip forward, just on the verge of being unbalanced, and from there, the movements follow.

The sweep of her arms, the quick procession of her feet across the floor. She allows her body to tell the story of lost love, of grief, of solitude. The piece she dances to is slow and melodic, full of the whine of violins and the twinkling of a piano. It makes her feel lonely, above all else.

By the time the song changes, she is out of breath. But she quickly comes back to herself when she hears him mutter, “Remarkable,” in a broken whimper.

“Are you mocking me?” she asks, drawing up to her full height.

He walks out into the light with her, and even _en pointe_ , he towers over her. “No,” he says and leans down to look her in the eyes.

“Why are you here?” she asks, turning away from him to wipe her face with a towel and drink some water.

“To watch,” he says, crowding the space behind her. She can feel the hem of his long unbuttoned coat brush against the back of her thigh. She refuses to turn around. She will not let him intimidate her.

“Show’s over,” she says and bends to gather her bag. But when she turns to leave, he is standing less than a foot away. And there is something about the way he’s looking at her that freezes her in place. She wants to leave, she really does. But she can’t. She can’t seem to do anything but stand there.

The closest she can come to describing his expression is hungry. Like he means to devour her.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he whispers and reaches a hand up to her face, just shy of actually touching her.

“I… I should go,” she whispers, as if compelled to keep her voice soft and close. And all that satisfaction she’d taken from not acknowledging him before seems misplaced now. Not drawing attention to how inappropriate it was for him to be watching her makes it feel like she’s given him permission to cross that line entirely.

He leans in even closer, his lips nearly brushing over the shell of her ear when he whispers, “I could _make_ you stay.”

And despite herself, despite the situation, she feels her head roll back to meet her neck. Her eyes slip closed and her exhale feels more like an affirmation than a rebuff.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs and lightly cups her face. “I feel it too.”

Then, he kisses her. And for some reason, she lets him. She finds she is eager for it. They come together in a clash of bodies that feels more significant than it should. She raises _en pointe_ and fists her hands in his long hair.

She hadn’t expected it to be so _soft_.

But she doesn’t have time to process much else, because she has never been kissed like this before. He holds her so tightly she thinks he must worry she would try to run. But running is the last thing on her mind as he grinds against her. His hands are huge as they move down her neck and curl around her back. And even though the kiss feels frenzied and disjointed, she can feel the way they move together.

He is dancing her across the room, his movements are precise and his touch is guiding. He leads her where he wants her. And she follows. Caught up in the feeling of kissing him, touching him, listening to the way his voice sounds when he groans, the way his chest heaves when he breathes deeply.

 _Gravitas_ , the librarian had said. And she’d been right. Everything about him speaks to his presence. And it doesn’t make sense, how she can almost feel his intent through the way he touches her. As if he is able to convey emotion through just the pattern of his steps. She’s never felt this in sync with anyone before.

He has her up against the window of the studio. The glass is cold against the bare skin of her shoulders and she shivers. He presses into her, the long lines of his body pin her in place. She can feel his erection against her stomach, and she throws her head back as he grinds it against her.

“Fuck,” he growls into her neck when she rolls her hips against his. He untangles one hand from her hair, pulled loose from her practice bun, and runs it down her hip, gripping her so hard she gasps into the kiss. His hand dips lower, between them, to touch her through the fabric of her leotard. He presses the palm of his hand over her clit and sucks on her neck.

And Rey presses into his hand, trying to pull the spiraling heat in her belly down. The heat of his touch is like fire, and she moans loudly at the friction of his hand against her.

“Oh fuck me,” he whines and rips the fabric of her leotard, trying to tug it aside so he can touch her breasts.

As the threads break, so too does his spell. And instantly, Rey realizes where she is and what they’re about to do. She panics.

“Stop!” she yells, shoving him backwards. But he is so big, looming over her that her efforts don’t afford her much space. Which she fiercely needs. She feels like she’s drowning, like she’s not in control of herself. Desperately, she kicks at him, trying to get away.

Once he’s on his back, she finally feels like she’s able to breathe again.

“What’s wrong with you?” he hisses, clutching his knee.

“I… I don’t… I’m not going to fuck you against a window of the dance studio!” she announces and his expression immediately shifts. Whatever anger he might have felt for ending up on his ass disappears. He probably thinks he’s covering his shame, but Rey sees it. That horrible moment when he realizes how far he would have pushed. And he looks disoriented, like he lost himself to someone else for a minute.

“No one asked you to,” he seethes after he recovers, getting to his feet. He is careful to keep his distance from her, and she's not sure whether she's thankful or disappointed.

She holds the torn edge of her leotard over her chest, “Certainly seemed like that’s what you wanted.”

He makes a frustrated noise, almost a growl, and runs his hands through his hair. Pulled away from his face, she can see the scar that stretches from his forehead to his cheek. She’s never gotten a good look at it before. Either because she was too intimidated to look him in the eye, or he hid in the shadows. But now that they’re both on even footing, and he pulls his hair back, she can see it. And she hates that she is still drawn to him. Even while she literally holds herself together, she feels like she wants to press into him, let him move her like he did just a minute ago.

She thinks about him dancing, that grainy, silent movie that made her _feel_ so sad is almost impossible to separate from him now. “Why did you come, if that’s not what you wanted?” she asks instead of what she really wants to know. Which is why were all his tapes destroyed? What was he hiding?

“You need a teacher,” he says after a second of deliberation.

“And you’re, what, offering?” she asks. “I thought you said I was too _stiff_ ,” she sneers, letting the double meaning of ‘stiff’ settle around them.

“You could be great, with the proper tutelage,” he ignores her jibe and straightens his coat and shirt, where she’d pulled his collar aside. His lips are red and swollen, and she can only imagine what she looks like.

“No thanks,” she finds herself saying. And to her surprise, she means it. She’s seen the way he treats his students. Heard enough stories about the demanding _Kylo Ren_ to know she doesn’t want to subjugate herself to that.

“You don’t know what you’re passing up,” he warns, taking a step towards her.

Immediately, her free hand comes up in front of her, warding him off. “Don’t,” she pleads. “Don’t,” she says again, with more force.

There is a moment where she can read the horror in his eyes before he forces it back. “Fine,” he grunts. “Just remember, this was your choice. When you’re dancing cabaret in Vegas in a few years and you’re pissed at the universe for your miserable life, remember this. I gave you a chance, and you refused.”

And then he sweeps from the room so quickly, she doesn’t even have enough time to stop him. Not that she would have.

At least, that’s what she tells herself.

\--

She doesn’t tell Finn about him to next day, or the day after. She tells herself that she’s still trying to process it. That she doesn’t want him to look at her differently. That it didn’t mean anything. That she doesn’t regret her choice, both to refuse his instruction and sex. But, none of that is exactly true. All of it is partially true though, so she can bare it.

Finn jokes about the sour mood Kylo Ren has been in for the past two days. He says students scurry out of his way.

“Poe said he saw him in the hall and Ren practically barreled right over him. He said one of his friends is in Ren’s class and he’s been killing them. I’d say you dodged a bullet, Rey,” Finn says her happily. And she knows he wants her to feel better, but all she can think about is the look in Ren’s eyes when she shoved him away.

\--

By the end of the week, the entire conservatory seems to know about his foul mood. So when he storms into her afternoon class on Friday, the young, ginger instructor nearly falls over himself to make way for _The Great Kylo Ren_.

“Come with me,” he says, not bothering to look at Rey. But there is no doubt in her mind he’s speaking to her.

“No,” she says, her hands on her hips.

“ _Come. With. Me._ ”

When she doesn’t move, he grabs her by the wrist and yanks her after him.

“Stop!” she shouts and wrenches her arm away from him, pirouetting away. All around them, the class disburses, as if some silent force has convinced them all to run. _Cowards_ , Rey thinks. Even her instructor, Hux, scurries away like the rest of them.

All but Finn.

When Ren reaches for her again, Finn steps between them. “Hey,” he announces, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “She said no.”

And Rey is overcome with more affection that she’s ever felt, watching Finn fight for her.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Ren spits, towering over Finn. “Move.”

“N-no,” Finn remains rooted in place.

“You know who I am. All I have to do is say the word, and your career will be over.”

“So,” Finn shrugs, even though Rey knows he’s terrified. He’s worked his entire life for this opportunity. He deserves it more than most of the students in this place. And he’s still willing to give it up, to protect her.

“No!” she shouts, pulling Finn back as the look in Ren’s eyes grows cold. She knows that look, that cruelty. And the last thing she wants to do is see that turned on Finn. “It’s okay,” she tells him and pats his arm. She can see the way Ren’s eyes track her hands, he watches her closely. Under her palm, she can feel Finn’s muscles jump. He’s practically shaking with rage. “It’s okay,” she says again, softly.

Finally, Finn looks away from Ren and into her eyes. “You sure?” he asks, carefully.

“Yeah. He’s not going to hurt me. He’s just an asshole,” she tells him and a few feet away she can hear Ren huff.

“Fine, but I’m going to be right outside this door,” he tells Ren, pointedly. “And if I hear _anything_ I don’t like, I’m coming in.” Finn says just before he passes by Ren

And she can _see_ the wheels of Ren’s mind spinning, trying to think of something cutting to say. “Don’t!” she warns. Once Finn is outside, the air in the room feels a little less oppressive. “So,” she shrugs. “What do you want?”

“You,” he says simply and Rey feels her traitorous stomach clench. Unbidden, the memory of him pressing into her, touching her, comes back to her.

“Not for sale,” she sneers.

“I don’t want to buy you,” he rolls his eyes. “I want to train you.”[7]

“You want to fuck me, you mean?” she accuses and crosses her arms.

“Things got out of hand the other night,” he admits and she thinks he’s trying to apologize. “It won’t happen again.” And there is something about his posture, how straight his back his, the way he holds his hands behind him, that makes her think he’s rehearsed this.

“No,” she says warily. “It won’t. Because I’m not joining your class.”

“Ugh,” he grunts. “Why are you being like this? You have so much potential!”

“And I’ll have just as much potential _not_ being taught by a psychopath,” she argues.

“You are impossible!” he declares, his hands flying up in disgust. “Fine!” he announces. “Fine. Be like that. I don’t care. I didn’t want to teach you in the first place!”

“What does that mean? You’re the one who disrupted an entire class just so you could recruit me.” But there is something in the back of her mind that’s been bugging her since the last time she saw him. The way he’d whispered ‘Remarkable’ that night, like it was a tragedy. Rey thinks about his missing performances, and she feels sick. “Did your benefactor want you to recruit me?”

“What?” he says, advancing on her so quickly so has to lean back just to get out of his reach.

“The librarian, she told me about your tapes. That someone destroyed them.”

“She’s too nosey for her own good,” he mutters and turns away.

“So it’s true then? Someone got rid of all your performances, and he wanted me to join your class?” he doesn’t say anything, and she takes that to mean she’s correct. “Did he want you to…” she trails off and covers her chest, an echo of the other night. “...to sleep with me?”

“No!” he turns back around to really look at her. And there is something about the truth that he’s being manipulated that dulls the rawness of her anger.

“Did _you_ want to?” she finds herself asking. Because she has to know.

“Yes,” he admits and it sounds so much like a surrender that she takes a step towards him.

“Do you really think I’m too stiff?” she smirks.

“Yes,” he sort of half smiles, and her heart races. “Which is why you need a teacher.”

“I have _lots_ of teachers,” she tells him.

“They aren’t good enough,” he says, inching his way towards her.

“And you are?”

“Yes,” he says. “I could have been.”

“Why aren’t you, then?”

“I owed someone,” he says, frustratedly.

“Your benefactor?” she guesses.

“Snoke,” he says, nodding his head. “He sponsored me, when I was a student. There was an accident, another student was hurt. He made sure it went away,” he explains and she can see the pain through the cracks in his armor.

“Blackmail?”

“Just a reminder,” he clarifies.

“A reminder of what?”

“That he made me. I wouldn’t be here without him. Quid pro quo.”

Rey shakes her head. “That’s blackmail. He doesn’t own you. And he didn’t _make_ you. I’ve seen you dance,” she confesses and his eyes fly to hers. And in them, she sees so much panic, she feels compelled to comfort him.

“How?”

“The librarian, Leia,” she explains. “She saved a copy of _Les Sylphides_. You were beautiful,” Rey says and reaches for his hand. And it’s a paltry compliment, for what his performance made her feel. But it’s the closest she can come to describing it.

“That was a long time ago,” he says, frozen in place.

Her first touch is tentative, just a brush of her fingers over his clenched fist. “You’re afraid,” she says, taking another step towards him. He’s close enough now that she can see his scar perfectly. He turns his head, like he’s trying to hide it. But she touches his face, keeps him from turning away. “What happened?” she asks, touching the edge of his scar on his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

“A mistake,” he answers and she can see even that is too much.

“Why does he want me?” she asks, trying to pull him from the memory she's unearthed.

“He collects talent.”

“How does he even know about me?” Rey wonders.

“I told him,” he confesses, finally pulling away. “That first night, when you were practicing. I saw your potential.”

“I'm not going to let him _collect_ me,” she informs him, jutting her chin out in defiance. “But if you ever want to _instruct_ me, you know where to find me.”

This time, Rey is the one who leaves the room first. She finds Finn waiting for her exactly where he said he'd be.

“You okay?” he asks, giving her a once over.

“Yeah. Just ready for this week to be over already.”

\--

“Are we really not going to talk about this?” Finn asks the next day over coffee. He's been relentless since they left school.

“Nothing happened,” Rey argues.

“Oh, so him manhandling you in front of the entire class, I'm just imaging that?”

“Nothing happened _after_ that,” she shrugs.

“Why was he even there? What happened between you two?”

“Nothing,” Rey says hiding her face with her cup, “much…”

“Oh my God. You slept with him, didn't you?” Finn accuses and Rey can't help it, she laughs.

“No,” she insists, “not yet.”

“I'm not hearing this.” Finn puts his fingers in his ears. “La la la.”

\--

“Why wouldn't Snoke want anyone to see his performances?” Rey asks, leaning over the counter of the information desk.

This is her first visit to the library since Ren admitted to being blackmailed. As usual, she can't let it go. But unlike before, Leia seems unwilling to help. Whatever Rey asks, the other woman just shrugs in response.

“Maybe Kylo asked him to get rid of them?” Rey theorizes. But Leia doesn't respond. “Because of the accident?” Rey guesses. “He said another student got hurt. Is that how he got that scar?”

“Young lady, you are in a library,” Leia finally caves and responds. Rey blushes at her surly tone.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you.” She turns to leave when Leia sighs loudly.

“For crying out loud!” Leia throws her hands up and comes around the desk in a huff. She pushes Rey into a chair at the open library computer and logs her in. “Libraries are full of all kinds of useful information,” Leia says, opening google in and typing a few keywords. “You just have to know _where to look_.”

On screen, Rey now finds a list of hundreds of search results. “But I couldn't find anything for Kylo…” she starts to say, but stops when she sees the first article.

_‘Accident at Premiere Dance Conservatory.’_

“Oh,” Rey gasps. It never occurred to her to look up the incident. She didn't know the other student’s name. But it turns out, she didn't need it. Just ‘accident’ and the school’s name was enough.

“Down the rabbit hole you go,” Leia mutters before she leaves Rey to it. 

\--

The music sounds stale and lifeless through the speakers two nights later, when Rey tries to dance. She keeps thinking about Ren. About what he said. How Snoke _collected_ talent. How he _owed_ him. She is too distracted to follow any structure tonight. Instead, she lets her body move. Allows the music to draw the movements out of her. Though, it's not exactly working.

She finds herself standing by the large window when the playlist ends and her next queued playlist begins. She touches her lips and thinks about the way he'd kissed her. She presses her palm against the cold glass and shivers at the memory as the intro to Swan Lake[8] begins to play.

“You lack discipline,” a deep voice calls from the darkened doorway.

She doesn't jump. She's been expecting him. “I'm thinking,” she tells him, not bothering to turn around.

“What about?”

“You,” she answers and looks over her shoulder.

“And what’s your verdict?” he asks, stepping into the light without any hesitation tonight. She can see his reflection in the darkened window.

“Still working it out,” she says and looks over her shoulder at him. He removes his coat, tossing it in a corner, and rolls his sleeves up.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says softly, coming up behind her.

And Rey closes her eyes when he touches her back. She feels like it’s the first clear breath she’s taken in a week. Something hollow and sharp rattles in her chest, a fear or regret that whatever might have happened that night was a one-time deal slips away. “I looked you up,” she confesses, her hands coming to rest on top of his where they rest around her middle.

“What did you find?” he asks, resting his chin on her shoulder. His cheek is rough over hers. And she is a little thrown. This is unlike any of their past encounters, full of spite and anger. She looks at his reflection now and sees nothing but an exhausted man, resting his head.

“Not much,” she shrugs, moving his chin and he smiles. “Under your stage name,” she clarifies and he pulls away so sharply she has to rock on the balls of her feet to keep from tipping forward.

He spins her in place, and steps into the space between them, crowding her. “How?” he asks, his eyes searching her face.

“Leia,” she admits and watches his resolve crumble. She’s never been this close to him without the distraction of being touched. She couldn’t see it before, the way his eyes go wide and round and soft.

“She told you?”

“No,” Rey shakes her head. She knows it’s important that Leia didn’t betray him. “She just pointed me in the right direction. I found an article, about the accident.”

She can see him struggle with something. He wants so badly to be ambivalent, she can see it. That fight inside him to remain indifferent. But she can also see where he fails, where the glimmers of remorse shine through. He seems to be fighting against himself, against his instincts. She’s never seen someone try too hard to be apathetic.

“It was never a secret,” he lies.

“Was it worth it?” she finds herself asking.

“Was what worth it?”

“Giving up your name, your career,” she says.

“They were forfeit the moment I threw that punch,” he says, looking away. “Snoke gave me another chance, when I didn’t deserve it.”

“You couldn’t have known that platform was going to collapse. You were on it too, after all,” she reasons and tracks the path of his scar with her eyes.

“No, but the only reason Han was standing on it when it did was because I hit him,” he argues and she can see that it’s something he must have reasoned over and over in his head.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Rey wonders, and reaches her hand out to touch his face. The glossy skin of his scar is denser than the rest of his cheek.

“What was me?”

“Who had the tapes destroyed, you asked Snoke, didn’t you? You _wanted_ them destroyed.”

“Yes,” he admits, defiantly.

“Ben,” she whispers his name and she watches as the last of his defenses crumble. And she thinks, she’s never someone look so naked while they were fully clothed.

“That’s not me, not anymore.”

“But it is, I’ve seen it,” she says, nodding to the studio floor. “I saw it that night you backed me into this window.” She blushes at the memory. “I’ve never seen anyone move the way you do.” Then, when it becomes obvious he’s not going to respond she says, “It was an accident. You can’t blame yourself forever.”

“He’ll never walk again!” He finally roars and pulls away. She can feel him slipping through her grasp. “And I did that to him!”

“So, now you _collect_ talent for Snoke? Does that make it better?”

“No!” he yells, running his hands through his hair.

“Then why are you like this? Why are you so mean to everyone!?”

“I’m trying to help,” he seethes. “You don’t want to be in my class, that’s fine! Have a good life!” He turns to leave, but Rey isn’t going to let him get away that easy.

“You are impossible!” she screams back, and he stops halfway to the door. “You carry around this chip on your shoulder like it’s a coat of armor and you’re preparing for battle. It was an accident. Accidents happen. Finn’s parents are dead because of an accident. You think you’re the only one who’s suffered? You think you’re the only one who’s messed up? You don’t have exclusive rights to pain. Get over yourself! I don’t care how _amazing_ you are, that doesn’t give you _carte blanche_ to be a dick to everyone!”

“What would you know about it? Perfect little ballerina with her perfect little life,” he patronizes.

“You don’t know anything about me!” she screams, getting right up in his face.

“I know you’re better than the rest of your class, but you’re so stubborn you’d rather throw your life away than admit that you need help.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to subject myself to being someone else’s punching bag because they’re too much of a coward to own up to their mistakes!”

“Is that what you think?” he asks sharply, his eyes flicking back and forth over her face so quickly she can’t keep up. And she feels like there is a line they’ve crossed, one she wasn’t aware of until it was too late.

“I think people mess up, life goes on. Things happen, it doesn’t give you the right to treat people like shit.”

“So you’re the expert on grief now?”

“Being an orphan will do that to you,” she bites back. And watching the way he stumbles back, as if struck, it a hollow victory. “Maybe ‘orphan’ is too generous a term, though, I don’t know. What do you call a kid whose parents’ abandon them? When they’re 8 years old and get dropped off at a babysitter’s and their parents just never come back? Are they still an orphan, or are they something else?” Rey can feel the tears on her cheeks, but she doesn’t care. She wipes them away furiously and glares at Ren. She’s fought the shame of this for so long, she refuses to let Ren pity her for it.

“Why did they leave you?”

“I don’t know!” she screams, choking on her own tears. “Let me know if you figure it out, because I’ve been wracking my brain for the last 11 years but for the life of me, I can’t think of anything I could have done that would have been _that_ bad. Who knows,” she shrugs, “maybe they just didn’t love me. Maybe I was just inconvenient.” she admits, and it is her greatest fear. Not that she was so horrible, or that they hated her. Just that they didn't care. She was nothing to them.

“I didn’t know,” he says softly.

“No, you wouldn’t. It’s not like I wear an ‘orphan’ armband. But you know what, getting a raw deal doesn’t mean that I get a free pass to abuse other people. It doesn’t mean that my pain is any more significant than anyone else’s. You think, just because you hurt someone, that means you get to yell at kids and intimate and bully them? It doesn’t,” she pokes his chest and struggles to reign in her tears.

“I push them because I know what they’re capable of.”

“There’s a difference between being firm and being a miserable asshole.”

“If I’m so bad, then why did you kiss me?” he challenges, jutting his chin out, trying to bury the fear in his eyes under a mountain of pride.

“Because of the way you dance!” she declares, huffing in frustration. “Because I’m lonely,” she admits, her voice a little softer. “Because I thought, maybe, you weren’t _that_ bad,” she concedes, because at least she knows that much of her own heart.

“And now?” he asks, and she can practically see his heart on his sleeve.

“I don’t know!” she exclaims in defeat. “I’ve been thinking about it for days, weeks! But I still don’t know.”

“I have a temper,” he admits and weirdly, Rey thinks that’s his way of apologizing.

“Yeah, I noticed,” she smirks.

“And you are infuriating,” he says, taking a step towards her.

“Maybe you’re just so used to everyone doing what ever you say, you forgot what it was like to have someone stand up for themselves. You use fear and intimidation to get what you want.”

“You’re not scared of me,” he points out.

“Why should I be?” she asks, her heart feels like it might beat right out of her chest. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“Not unless you want me to,” he whispers, and Rey feels her breath catch. Just like the last time they were alone together, she can’t control herself around him. She hadn’t been lying. She’s not scared of him, she never has been. She’d always been too busy being mad to ever really be scared. But there is something about him that calls to her.

“What if I don’t want to get hurt?” she asks instead, and she can see the hunger so clearly in his eyes, she can practically _feel_ it.

“I’m not a good person,” he warns.

“I think, you could be.”

And there is something about the way he looks at her that makes her heart race. She thinks, maybe, he loves her. She’s never seen anyone look at her the way he does now. He looks so young, still full of hope and promise and potential. She wonders if anyone has ever believed in him. Maybe when he was younger, but certainly not since Snoke got his hands on him. And it’s sad, monstrous even, that Ren ever allowed himself to be controlled so thoroughly.

“Why do you care?” he asks, just shy of touching her.

“I don’t know.”

“Join my class,” he asks again, and this time when Rey refuses, she knows it’s for a different reason.

“No,” she shakes her head, but before he can pull away in anger, she kisses him. “I'm not going to be your _student_ ,” she clarifies, pulling back to look him in the eye and she can see the exact moment he understands.

“Good,” he mumbles before he kisses her again. But unlike the last time when he'd been almost desperate to tear into her, this time he is softer.

He takes his time walking her across the studio. He is almost reverent as he removes her clothes. And he never stops kissing her. So when he presses her against the window, the city is lit up like Christmas lights below her, she is not surprised.

And she'd been right, about the way he moved. It was more than just dancing and walking. He moves with such precision and purpose that when he first pushes inside of her, Rey loses all sense of herself. There is just the friction of their heated skin, and the way he touches her.

He fucks her from behind, steadily building a deep rhythm that rocks them both. In the background, the crescendo of the Dance of the Swans[9] plays from Rey’s little speaker. And for a second, she forgets herself. She forgets who she is. For just a second, she can let herself believe that she is Odette, the Swan Queen. And behind her, thrusting into her in rapid succession, in perfect time with beat of the drums[10], Kylo Ren is her Siegfried.

And just as Act II comes to a close, he abandons his quest to hunt her and discards his weapon and together, they move in perfect harmony. The way she arches her spine into his touch, and he grabs at her hips and thrusts wildly, they are frantic as the music peaks.

And together, they fall. In perfect time.

\--

“I’m glad you refused,” Ren whispers as they lay in a tangle of limbs, still basking in the afterglow of sex.

“Me too,” Rey laughs and kisses him.

It wasn’t where she imagined she would end up, that first night he came to watch her dance. But she’s happy. And, she thinks, with some time and support, he could be happy too. Because in spite of everything, that’s what she wants. To see him smile.

And he does, when he kisses her shoulder and laughs with her.

Swan Lake has a new meaning to Rey, now.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [1] [http://www.dance.net/topic/8250956/1/Ballet-General/Hardest-ballet.html&replies=2](http://www.dance.net/topic/8250956/1/Ballet-General/Hardest-ballet.html&replies=2)  
> [2] <http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Seff_Hellin>  
> [3] <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMJWjvPDxYM>  
> [4] [https://books.google.com/books?id=3lLHg6tLeIwC&pg=PA223#v=onepage&q&f=false](https://books.google.com/books?id=3lLHg6tLeIwC&pg=PA223#v=onepage&q&f=false)  
> [5] (Source unknown) I can’t remember where this imagery is from, but I know I didn’t make it up. It’s probably another fic. I’ll link it when I find it again.  
> [6] <http://www.bustle.com/articles/21278-51-things-only-ballet-dancers-understand>  
> [7] <http://willliamherondale.tumblr.com/post/48490742581/>  
> [8] <http://www.ellenkent.com/synopsis/swan-lake.html>  
> [9] <http://bensolosrey.tumblr.com/post/138509474157/>  
> [10] <https://play.spotify.com/track/6f0MAUtUl9HRtxZX9eovcj>
> 
> To see all the posts that inspired this fic, you can visit [this tag](http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/tagged/sl/) on my tumblr.
> 
> Ballet terminology resources:
> 
>   * <http://www.pbt.org/community-engagement/ballet-vocabulary>
>   * [http://ballethub.com/ballet-term](http://ballethub.com/ballet-term/assemble/)
> 



End file.
